My doctor's great. I approve of her so much that I still go to see her in Villenave even though it means reserving a car and all the malarkey that goes with it, rather than just sloping round the corner where Pat goes.
Anyway, last time I was there she said, "What about doing a little examination of your heart, eh? Never hurts at your age..."
It has to be said that I was less enthusiastic about the idea than she was, but the doctor's word is law, unless they tell you to give up chocolate. And my father did have a heart attack well before my age.
So it was that today, many months after the afore-mentioned consultation, I found myself dressed like a navvy, navel to the winds, riding uphill to nowhere on a reclining bicycle, wired-up with about 30 or so electrodes stuck in fancy patterns over my torso while an echographist poked his wand into my ribs.
After about 15 minutes of this absorbing diversion they said, "All normal. If you did more exercise you'd recover quicker. That's 200 euros please, your health insurance will reimburse you."
I filled up my water bottle at their chilled spring-water dispenser, then celebrated by stopping off at MacDonalds for a hamburger.
Oh look, I know - but sometimes a man needs beef.